


underneath each mask (i find another)

by ness (nessismore)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crush, F/M, Masks, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 01:05:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessismore/pseuds/ness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He scans the room, searching the masked crowd for a glimpse of her, but there are plenty of brunette women around. Then he spots her from across the room. He would know the way she moves anywhere.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	underneath each mask (i find another)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from. Thanks to merideath and katertots for looking this over for me! And thanks to melifair for helping provide me with mask inspiration :)
> 
> The title is from the Jem and the Holograms song, "Everybody Wears a Mask." (thanks, Meri!)

It’s one of those fancy parties where women wear ball gowns and men wear tuxedos, but this time they’re all wearing masks, which makes Steve feel extra silly. It’s for charity, otherwise he wouldn’t be here, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s bored and uncomfortable. His face itches where the edges of the mask rub against his cheeks. He resists the urge to scratch, because he doesn’t want to dislodge the damned thing and let people know who’s under the mask. 

He sees Natasha, distinguishable by her bright red hair and intricate wire mask chatting with Clint, their eyes constantly scanning the room. Pepper and Bruce are with them, quietly chatting, while  Tony is holding court in the center of the room, the right side of his face only partially obscured by the plain white mask. Steve hears him over the music singing loudly about phantoms and operas. He’s even wearing a cape. Steve’s fingers itch to draw each of them and the way their faces move beneath their masks, but he knows pulling out his sketchbook would be rude. Instead, he turns his attention to shifting his mask so that it’s not quite so uncomfortable. He still feels silly, of course, but at least it’s not scratching against his face.

His mask is a pretty red and blue thing trimmed with gold. When he saw it, he thought it would be stupidly obvious who he was, but apparently there are plenty of men wearing red and blue masks like this one. Perhaps they’re hoping to cash in on the Captain America resemblance. Either way, no one is focusing on him in particular. While several women have asked him to dance, it’s due more to his shoulders and his build rather than his status as the First Avenger. He politely declines them all, content to hold up the wall and observe the people around him.

He spots more friends on the dance floor—Thor, in a black mask adorned with silver streaks of lightning, and Thor’s lady love, the diminutive Dr. Foster. Steve’s heart clenches, because if Dr. Foster is here, then it might mean that _she_ is here, too. He scans the room, searching the masked crowd for a glimpse of her, but there are plenty of brunette women around. Then he spots her from across the room. He would know the way she moves anywhere.

Darcy, Dr. Foster’s pretty assistant. She’s in a whispy dream of a dress, the long, white skirts floating around her like a cloud. Her mask is white, too, with a big, white flower adorning the side of it, and she might look angelic if not for the mischievous curve of her bright red lips. Her skirts shift, and he catches a glimpse of red on her feet. His fingers yearn to touch, and he clenches his hands at his sides. Immediately he feels his body stir in reaction. He can’t help it. 

That’s the way it always goes around her. She likes to downplay her looks at work, but there’s no hiding that gorgeous mouth and sparkling eyes. She covers up her chest, but it’s on display now; he looks his fill, noticing others are doing the same, and he groans. She’s laughing with Clint and Natasha. Steve knows she’s funny even if she never says anything around him, because he’s heard her cracking jokes with Clint and Tony, or telling Natasha stories about her day at work. For the hundredth time, he wonders what he’s said or done to offend her. He’s sure he’s done something, because every time they’re in the same room, she clams up and won’t look at him, when all he’d really like to do is get to know her. He’d thought at first that she might have a crush on him, too—which sounds silly and juvenile, but that’s exactly what it is—but he’s seen her with men she’s asked out on dates, and she’s nothing like she is with him. 

A man approaches Darcy, bowing over her hand with an exaggerated flourish, and Steve has to grit his teeth. This is his chance to talk to Darcy without her clamming up around him, and he’s not going to let this schmuck take it from him. Straightening his shoulders, he makes his way through the crowd to where Darcy is still talking to the other guy. On the way, he snags two glasses of champagne, and shoves politeness to the side. He’s not great at being suave, so he tries to go for straightforward.

He cuts in front of the guy talking to Darcy and says, “Hello.” Steve’s mind blanks after that. When she turns to him and smiles, his brain scrambles for something to say. Her teeth worry her bottom lip as she studies him, and he wonders if maybe she knows who he is. After a moment, it dawns on him that she’s probably waiting for him to say something else. He thinks of Bucky and tries to channel some of his moves. He gives her his most winning smile and offers her a glass of champagne. “For the prettiest dame in the room.” He tries to pitch his voice lower, just in case she’d recognize it.

“Thank you,” she says. She takes a sip, eyes on him, and licks her lips. He finds himself mirroring the action and her lips curve up in a sultry smile. The guy who’d bowed over her hand stops talking and slinks away, and Steve feels a flare of satisfaction as he studies her up close. Her hair, done up in some fancy up-do thing, still looks soft and touchable, and he yearns to touch.

“What’s a doll like you standing on the sidelines? You should be on the dance floor.”

Darcy tilts her head, eyes sparkling. “Should I?” 

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

Her eyes travel over him, head to toe and back again. She puts a hand on her hip. “You gonna ask me?”

Yeah, there’s no way she knows it’s him. Steve downs his champagne, for courage, and puts his empty glass on a passing server’s tray. He extends his hand toward Darcy, 

She tilts her chin up, swishing her skirts in a daintily feminine move, drains her own glass, and hands it off to Clint. She places her hand in Steve’s and he brushes his lips against her knuckles. He loves the way she shivers in awareness. He draws her towards the dance floor and takes her into his arms. His fingers touch soft, warm skin, and he can’t resist running his fingers over her back. 

She laughs up at him. “You like my dress?”

He traces his fingers down her spine one more time and pulls her closer. “I like it very much.”

She puts her hands on his shoulders, and he gets nervous all over again. “I should probably tell you I’m not the best dancer,” he says apologetically, but she just smiles.

“Neither am I. But I think we can manage the stand-and-sway.” They do, even for the dances where people are jumping and grinding on the floor. He just holds Darcy closer so they can hear each other over the music. Sometimes he sees Tony and Clint in the background laughing, and he’s pretty sure they’re laughing at him, but he doesn’t care because finally Darcy’s actually speaking to him. Neither of them ask for the other’s name, but that’s okay with him. He likes spending time with Darcy, and he doesn’t want anything to interrupt that. 

It’s a fast song now, and someone knocks into her, pressing her into him, chest to chest. His arms automatically close around her, and he groans with need. She’s soft and pliant against him, and all he wants to do is mess up her carefully coiffed hair by running his fingers through it and kiss her until they’re both silly with it.

She shifts, and he groans, realizing that this is where she finds out how excited he is to be with her. Her eyes widen, and she snaps her gaze up to meet his. She feels it, but she doesn’t seem to mind it. In fact, she wiggles a bit against him. She crooks her finger, motioning him to lean down towards her. He does.

“I think I’m going to kiss you now,” she whispers, her breath tickling his ear and sending a frisson of desire down his spine. 

“Okay,” he whispers back. Because there’s no way he’s saying no to that. Then she’s cupping his cheek and grazing his lips with hers. It’s chaste and sweet and nice, but he wants a _real_ kiss. He surprises himself when his tongue traces the seem of her lips, urging them open. Maybe this is too fast, he thinks when she doesn’t respond right away, but then she opens her mouth and lets him in. Their tongues tangle and her fingers are in his hair to pull him closer. In that moment he forgets that they’re in the middle of the dance floor, forgets that there are always people watching for Captain America, forgets everything but the silky skin of her back under his hands and the searing heat of her pressed against him. The only things he can think of are her lips and the way she tastes like champagne and _Darcy._ Nothing else matters.

Eventually they have to come up for air, and Darcy is panting, pressing her forehead against his chest so hard he feels the edge of her mask digging into him. Then she looks up, smiles and says “Come on,” and drags him off the dance floor to the back corner of the ballroom. The terrace doors are open, and he thinks she’s leading him there until she stops at a shadowed alcove tucked away from prying eyes. She steps inside and beckons him in.

“How did you find this place?” he asks, as people pass by without even looking their way.

Darcy smiles and reaches for his hand. “I like to find little out of the way areas when I go to things like this.”

Steve can’t tamp down the spurt of jealousy that goes through him as he takes her hand and pulls her hard against him. “You make a habit of going to these out of the way places with guys you don’t know?”

“Never. Only you,” she says, her hands cupping the nape of his neck. She tugs, and he leans in so she can reach his lips. He loses himself in the kiss, memorizing the taste and the feel of her. She pulls away briefly to close the curtains at the entrance of the alcove, cutting them off from the brightness of the ballroom. They’re lit only by a single sconce on the wall, and he wonders if this is how she’d look in candlelight. Hopefully one day he’ll get to find out.

He pulls her back into his arms, slanting his lips over hers. She makes a sound of pleasure that sends desire surging through him, and he presses her against the wall, his cock hard against her stomach. Her fingers trail down his chest to stroke him through his pants while her tongue strokes against his, and fuck, he’s going to take her right here.

“We can’t,” he says against her mouth even as he cups her ass and lifts her so that she’s notched against his erection. He shifts the gossamer fabric of her skirts so that it’s her panties rubbing against his slacks. 

“I know,” she moans, even as she wriggles and sighs and locks her legs around his waist. They shouldn’t, he knows, because anyone can walk in on them, but that thought thrills him just a little. They would see him claiming her, her claiming him. 

“Fuck,” Steve hisses as his hips surge into hers, trapping her between his body and the wall. His hand moves between her legs, slipping underneath the elastic of her panties to explore the wet heat there. Her cry is sharp and keening as she cants against him. He slips one finger inside her, then a second one, and soon she’s riding his hand while he plays with her clit and he’s smothering her cries with his mouth as she comes apart in his arms. 

“Fuck me,” she breathes, but Steve shakes his head regretfully.

“Can’t. No condoms,” he says through gritted teeth as she continues to move against him.

“On the pill. Fuck me _now_.” She doesn’t have to tell him again. She slams her mouth down on his and he withdraws his hand, holding onto her tight while he unbuttons his pants and frees his cock from the confines. He shoves her panties to the side and enters her in one hard thrust that has her throwing back her head and closing her eyes behind the mask. “Yes,” she moans, clinging tightly to his neck. She squeezes around him and he thinks he might explode then and there. He shuts his own eyes and rests his forehead against hers, their masks scraping while they both try to catch their breath.

When he thinks he can move without disgracing himself, he withdraws slowly from her heat, her muscles clenching tight around him before he slams back in. “Fuck,” he hisses, and Darcy nips at his lower lip.

“That’s the idea, big boy,” she says, rocking her hips against his and he thrusts into her again, his rhythm building faster and faster. His world narrows to the feel her around him and her fingernails biting into his forearm where she grips him tightly; her little gasps of pleasure and the way her lips are parted as she moans, “yes;” the way her breasts bounce and the skirts of her dress flow around his hands. He focuses on driving her towards orgasm for the second time, and as she nears that plateau, he reaches up take off her mask because he wants to see her face as she comes. She shakes her head frantically, even as her hips snap hard to his. _Next time_ , he tells himself, because there has to be a next time. 

She screams and he covers the sound with his mouth; she throws her arms around his neck and shudders around him. He drives into her harder, faster, determined to make her come a third time. When she does, he’s right there with her. They stand there—well, he stands there, keeping her balanced against the wall—trying to catch their breath. Steve’s mask is askew and he straightens it. 

“That was good,” he says, his voice alive with pleasure that he can’t hide even if he wants to. He doesn’t, because fuck, that was really good. Darcy straightens, her head bumping against his. She’s shaking her head frantically, pushing at his shoulders, and he sets her on her feet.

“This is bad,” she moans. She sounds less than pleased, and it’s enough to snap Steve out of his sex-induced haze. He’s a little indignant. She came three times, and that was _bad_? But then he hears her muttering to herself about messing everything up as she tries to right herself (her hair is completely ruined, and he’s kinda proud of that).

“Sweetheart, what are you talking about?” She’s on the verge of hyperventilating now, and he reaches out to pull her into his arms.

“We had sex,” she practically wails as she wraps her arms around his waist. Yes, they did. And it was great sex. Incredible sex, actually, but that doesn’t seem to be the right thing to say. “I was just supposed to ask you to dinner and now I’ve ruined everything!” She pulls herself out of his arms and is heading towards the curtain. He hurriedly makes sure everything is tucked away and zipped before he goes after her.

“Darcy! Darcy—where are you going?” He catches her before she throws the curtain open. 

She whirls around. “You know who I am?” He nods, and he’s not sure if that makes the situation better or worse. “How long have you known?”

He reaches over and takes off her mask, then takes her hand in his. “Since the second I saw you.”

“God, Steve, why didn’t you tell me?”

That gives him pause. “You’ve known who I am?”

“Kind of hard not to,” Darcy says with a self-deprecating laugh. “Even if Clint hadn’t told me what mask you’d be wearing, I’d recognize you anywhere.”

“Clint? What does he have to do with anything?”

“He helped me come up with this plan. Because I like you but I seem to have a problem with words when you’re around because you’re so amazing and I’m so…not. No. Don’t say anything yet, okay? Anyway, he figured if I thought you didn’t know that I was me I’d be able to talk to you and he was right but now I’ve gone and ruined it by having sex with you.”

“Why does that ruin things?”

“Sex ruins everything. No. That sounds stupid and melodramatic. Sex complicates things and the plan was to get to know you and show you that I’m not a spaz—which, I know, I’m doing a terrible job of at the moment—and ask you out and eventually, a few dates down the road, we could have sex. And now you must think I’m ridiculously easy—“

“If I remember right, you weren’t the only one having sex just now. Why would I think that you’re easy?”

“Because when it comes to you, I totally am.” Darcy claps a a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, Darcy, shut up.”

Steve pulls her hand away and kisses her softly, chastely. “I’m easy when it comes to you, too. Didn’t take all that much effort to get me here, did it? And for the record, I wanted a chance to get to know you, too.” He takes off his own mask and tosses both of them to the ground. “What do you say we try this again okay?”

She looks at him skeptically. “Sex?”

He laughs and presses a soft kiss to her palm. “Not quite. Darcy Lewis, would you do me the honor of going on a date with me?”

She smiles shyly and tangles the fingers of her other hand with his. “I’d like that.” They stare at each other dopily for a minute before Darcy asks, “Does that mean no more sex for now?”

“If that’s what you want it to mean.” And he means that. Getting to know Darcy, dating her, being with her, is more important than jumping into—or back into—bed right away. 

She thinks for a moment, then she says, “I think that would probably be a good idea.” 

He can’t say he’s not a little disappointed, but this is important. He has a feeling that this could be big. “Can I kiss you?”

Darcy catches her lower lip between her teeth, then nods. “I’d like that.” They trade kisses, soft and gentle, long and deep, until they’re panting and Darcy says, “I might have to rethink this no sex thing if we don’t get out of here, stat.”

He’s tempted to kiss her again and make her forget, but he doesn’t. Instead he says, “Let’s see if we can do something with your hair.” They end up taking out all of the bobby pins and letting it fall down in a cascade of soft, brown waves. She wipes her lipstick from his mouth, and when she deems him presentable, they don their masks and slip out of the alcove. 

Darcy blushes and says she needs to go to the restroom to clean up, and he realizes he should do the same. When he comes out of the restroom, she’s waiting for him. She tangles her fingers with his, and he likes it. He likes it a lot.


End file.
